


Her Teeth Look Better In Her Head

by RedBlazer



Series: On Ice [2]
Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, Alternate Universe - Sports, F/M, Hockey, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, National Hockey League, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8754175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedBlazer/pseuds/RedBlazer
Summary: Contrary to popular opinion: hockey players aren’t all huge bloodthirsty goons. In fact, blood on the ice is probably Mike’s least favorite thing to see during a game.Not only because it could mean they’re down a player, but the stoppage of time throws off the rhythm of the plays, and if someone from the other team goes down, they might be facing a penalty.Now, this is explicitly demonstrated when Ginny takes a hockey puck going roughly 70 miles an hour to the face. Mike, at the net, starts forward immediately as it makes an impact. He’s making his way there the millisecond that Ginny goes from upright to landing on the ice in an ungraceful heap.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Mentions of blood and injury. Nothing very graphic. If you find this upsetting, please do not read.

Contrary to popular opinion: hockey players aren’t all huge bloodthirsty goons. In fact, blood on the ice is probably Mike’s least favorite thing to see during a game.

Not only because it could mean they’re down a player, but the stoppage of time throws off the rhythm of the plays, and if someone from the other team goes down, they might be facing a penalty.

Now, this is explicitly demonstrated when Ginny takes a hockey puck going roughly 70 miles an hour to the face. Mike, at the net, starts forward immediately as it makes an impact. He’s making his way there the millisecond that Ginny goes from upright to landing on the ice in an ungraceful heap.

Mike’s stomach plummets. Years of watching the puck have made his reflexes lightening quick, but there’s nothing he could do to stop a rogue slap shot that was meant for his glove. Already sweating under a thick layer of padding, his body goes cold all over in that sick way that happens when a person is terrified. Because that’s what’s happening. Ginny got hit. And from the looks of it, she’s unconscious. Her stick lays a foot away from her hand, where it clattered to the ice.

The guy who _hit_ the thing is actually the first one there besides a ref furiously blowing his whistle. Mike knows him, Trevor Davis, he and Ginny played together in the minors and now he looks like he’s going to throw up.

“Ginny!” Trevor’s hands are shaking, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

Mike, in pure violation of the rules, pulls off his helmet so he can look at her without the bars that protect _his_ face obscuring his view. She caught it in the side of her face, the impact striking her sharp jaw. It busted the very corner of her lip, a small trickle of blood tracking down the side of her face. Mike drops to his knees, oblivious to the movement all around him, where medics are already beginning to arrive.

“Ginny?” Mike’s hands are huge and hulking in his gloves, one hand flutters from her shoulder to lightly rest over her ribs on one side where she broke two a few years ago. His other hand manages to escape its prison, fluttering uselessly in the air.

He can’t do what he wants to, pull off her helmet and hold her face in his hands to make sure it’s not broken. There’s no skin exposed except for the exact place she was struck. They’ll need to clear her spine and make sure it’s not an injury to her neck or back. He can’t move her, can’t hold her. He’s stuck here like a total chump while his _girlfriend—_ Girlfriend—is laying there unconscious.

And jesus, there’s never been a worse time for him to come to the realization that he and Ginny should have told someone, literally anyone that they weren’t just roommates. He wasn’t _just_ the captain of the team taking in the rookie who was living off of Chipotle in a hotel room. Because Mike remembered what it was like to be new to a place, so he offered her a space in his house.

Now—a year later, the guest room hasn’t been slept in for months.

Ginny’s eyes flutter behind her eyelids, blearily opening and closing.

“Ginny? Ginny you’re okay.” Mike reassures her, practically yelling over Trevor as he continues to apologize for hitting her. There’s suddenly a wall of people all around them, men wearing black and white, Padres uniforms, Al in his suit, and then four medics.

Al’s gripping Mike’s shoulder, he can tell just from the way that he squeezes extra hard so that Mike can feel it.

“Mike you gotta get out of the way,” Al tells him. Logically Mike knows this. He’s roughly the size of a bear in his pads, and dammit she’s _small_. He’s taking up too much room. “Mike. Now.” Al tells him more directly.

He and Trevor both step away from Ginny’s prone form as the medics move in. She’s staring up at the lights in a dazed way, giving a medic the thumbs up when he asks her if she can hear him.

They tell her not to move while they assess the damage, palpating her jaw before they determine it’s not broken. She still cries out when they probe lightly at the spot that’s already turning a molted purple. Al’s hand on his arm is the only thing that stops him from moving forward.

“She’s taken licks before.” Al reminds him in a low voice.

It’s only then that Mike realizes just how _silent_ it is. When he looks over at the stands he sees the fans in the first rows are standing, silently regarding the scene. There’s a girl in a Baker jersey with a hand over her mouth, her eyes huge as her mother comforts her. They’re standing reverently as the medics check Ginny over.

In a way Ginny belongs to them. They care about her, root and yell for her victories. They’re furious when she’s on the end of a bad call.

They might not be as scared as Mike is, but they’re still scared.

The medics ask her to move all of her limbs. But they still strap her to a gurney with her head in a c-collar before they take her from the ice. Mike watches them as they go, then he looks down at the brilliantly red spot of blood on the ice. There’s barely any at all, but it’s there and they’ll have to clear the ice so that it can be cleaned away.

Al pats him on the shoulder, his jaw clenched in a concerned way as he heads back to the bench. Mike follows, waiting for orders.

 

\---------

 

It becomes incredibly clear that they need to pull Mike. He lets a goal into the net not five minutes into the game, and almost lets another one in, catching it by a hair.

Al swaps him out for Duarte—literally the only time Mike won’t be pissed about that decision.

Mike, panting and sweating, goes through the gate that leads off the rink and towards the locker room. Even after years he’s clumsy on his skates when he’s not on the ice itself. He carefully makes his way back to the locker room.

He doesn’t change out of his pads, doesn’t do anything but get out of his skates so that he can make tracks. He doesn’t care if he looks like a crazy person, roaming through the tunnels under the stadium in the slip-on deck shoes that Ginny makes fun of him for.

When he finds her, she’s sitting up on a padded table in the medical suite, holding a massive ice pack to the left side of her face. Her hair is plastered to her face in places by sweat. She’s wearing the long sleeve white compression top that goes under her pads on top, the pads in question have been taken off and lay in an undignified pile by the table. Her lower half looks huge in comparison. She’s still wearing pads under the loose shorts, shin guards still on along with her skates.

“Oh thank god.” Mike sags against the door, his heart finally beginning to return to a normal rhythm. Ginny’s head moves in his direction, the uncovered side of her mouth curls up.

“Ow-“ she says around what sounds like cotton as the movement pulls on the side of her face.

He casts one look around the room to make sure they’re alone before moving forward. Mike makes himself fit into the space between her legs, several inches of padding separating them from actual contact. Sitting on the table, her head comes to the prefect height to tuck under his chin.

Scared of hurting her, he gathers her to him as carefully as he can, his arms wrapping around her frame, dwarfing her. He rests his cheek on her head because it feels like the only thing he can do without hurting her.

And then he just holds on.

“Don’t do that again, okay?” Mike asks. She can’t really answer him, but a rattling chuckle sounds in the room, he can feel her head move under his cheek.

After a minute he pulls away, leaning down to get a better look.

“How do you feel?” he asks her, she gives him a pointed, annoyed look at that one. “Okay, yeah. Should have known the answer to that one.” He rests his hand over her very cold one, drawing away the ice pack very carefully. Mike makes a wincing sound of his own as he takes in the swelling and bruising already taking hold. He tucks the icepack back against her face. “This it?” he asks her.

Ginny shakes her head, holding up her other hand and shaking it back and forth before pointing one slender finger at the silver tray table over by the wall.

Mike follows her gaze, seeing some wadded up cotton packing, some of it stained with blood. There’s a silver kidney tray on the side, another piece of cotton inside. He has to take a step away from her to get a better look.

Resting in the gauze is one perfect, white tooth.

He’ll be dammed.

“Well, at least now we’re matching.” Mike says. She gives him another skeptical look. “Look, it’s not a competition.” She holds up three fingers and then points at him. “Yeah I know, they’re my teeth. I know how many I’ve had knocked out. But let’s keep you at one for as long as we can.”

She makes a snorting sound, patting the bench and then kicking her legs at him softly.

Mike retrieves a rogue chair and sits down, tending to the task of unlacing Ginny’s skates from each foot. When he’s done, he sets them down next to the pile of her pads and holds one of her feet in his hand. Just because. He’s gotta keep a hand on her for a while.

They sit in silence, a medic comes in and checks the swelling before handing Ginny two white pills in a small cup. It’s clearly a struggle for her to open her mouth and swallow them along with a bit of water. Seeing that makes Mike’s chest contract.

He doesn’t think about how they’re touching or what the medic will think, because he knows what has to happen.

Mike Lawson is the captain of the Padres. He’s one of the best goalies on the league, and with Ginny they have a real shot at the cup this year. She’s selling out the stadium night after night.

There’s no way either of them will get benched anytime soon.

They have to tell Al, Amelia, and then the world.

Because he’s Mike Lawson, and the next time that Ginny hits the ice he wants to be able to hold her hand.

He and Ginny are still sitting there, waiting on x-rays when Al appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Arms crossed over his chest, he looks between the two of them.

“Well—shit.” Al finally says after a long moment, shaking his head. He sounds resigned and a unsurprised. “You okay?” he asks. Ginny gives him a thumps up. Al nods. “Get better, kid.” he says, leaving down the hallway the way he came.

“We’re gonna be fine.” Mike tells her, squeezing her calf over thick padding.

She makes a humming noise that leaves Mike with the impression that she’s got a long series of arguments as to why it never will be okay.

Mike retaliates by sticking his thumb right in the place on the arch of her foot where she’s incredibly ticklish.

She kicks him in the chest by accident so hard that it knocks the wind out of him.


End file.
